want of spiritual life in myself this evening, and of which I was unconscious when I entered the hall.”
The undisguised and noble candour with which this explanation was given refreshed my spirit, as did also the manner in which his friends bore the disappointment of the evening. One could see that they thought, “it is of no importance, for Channing will make it up to us another time. No matter.”
A little circle of his friends surrounded him, whilst the rest of the numerous assembly quietly left the hall. Afterwards he told Marcus and Rebecca that he could not explain the weight which seemed like a bewitchment to have enchained his powers of mind that evening. He had come to New York from his house on the Hudson full of life, excited by the beautiful, star-bright evening, and full of a desire to speak. But when he entered the hall, he had become like a person deprived of the use of his limbs, and he could not shake off the heavy cramping fetters which he was disposed to ascribe to the magic influence of some opposing evil spirit.
When, however, I see at times the glance of Channing's eye, the fine clear crimson of his cheek, I cannot help asking myself whether these times of exaltation are not the contents of a dangerous chalice which, while they enhance life, bring death all the nearer; the Prometheus spirit which steals the fire of heaven is compelled to pay for it with days of imprisonment and sorrow. But who could or who would prevent the bird from seeking the mountain even though he become the prey of the fowler, or the silk-worm from spinning, although she spins her own tomb? From the very threads that she spins the human race after all make their holiday attire.
On Monday my good hosts took me to Miss Lynch, who lives in one of the quiet and fashionable quarters of New York. And, for a little time, I took leave of this couple, so pure-hearted, so happy in each other, so
